<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>living in the real world by hairtiesoncuffs</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27311689">living in the real world</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hairtiesoncuffs/pseuds/hairtiesoncuffs'>hairtiesoncuffs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>falling out of conversations [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Basically at least, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Gen, Memories, anyway that was irrelevant, good proper love and nothing john gave them, haha emotional pain, i haven't cried writing things but i feel like i should, john winchester kind of sucks a lot, please just stop hurting them, they just need love, timeline of events i guess, yeet hope you like this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:35:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,388</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27311689</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hairtiesoncuffs/pseuds/hairtiesoncuffs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John takes a deep breath. “Mommy’s not coming out, bud,” he says, as gently as he can. “Mommy’s in a better place.” <br/>(Dean doesn’t know about the way Mary’s ringlets were spread across the ceiling, the way her stomach was cut open in a bright red smile, the way her mouth was frozen in a scream that made no sound.) </p><p>the end of my 7x17 au</p><p>title from the lyrics of 'ain't it fun' by paramore</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>falling out of conversations [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906321</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>living in the real world</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>so uh this was originally supposed to be from jasper's pov and i was going to put 'surprise i lied the oc is back' as the character tag but oh well </p><p>anyways here's a little fic for the end (!!) of this series </p><p>i don't actually think there are any specified trigger warnings here, just the typical spn stuff and events that happen in the show, along with a couple of interpreted happenings by me. still, be careful just in case</p><p>hope you like the end of this!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dean is four years old and carrying his baby brother out of their house. There’s a slight tang of sulfur in the air, amid the simple smell of burning. Sam is crying, pressing himself into Dean as their Dad appears behind them and scoops them up, just before the heat blows out the windows. He’s too numb to scream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks and they’re on the hood of the car, Sam calm now and John clutching both of them tight, like he might lose them. Dean manages to get his tongue loose enough to ask, “Daddy, where’s Mommy?” and his Dad’s face crumples. Dean doesn’t know what to make of it; his dad is tough. He never cries. “Daddy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John takes a deep breath. “Mommy’s not coming out, bud,” he says, as gently as he can. “Mommy’s in a better place.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Dean doesn’t know about the way Mary’s ringlets were spread across the ceiling, the way her stomach was cut open in a bright red smile, the way her mouth was frozen in a scream that made no sound.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their neighbors stand on the edges of the police tape, eyes wide with horror, sympathy, and underneath it all, relief it didn’t happen to them. Dean doesn’t understand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Mommy?” he asks again. “Why isn’t Mommy here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John is saved from having to answer by the police officer that comes over. Dean remains seated on the hood of the Impala, Sam still in his arms. Before John walks away to join the officers, he tells Dean for the first time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watch out for Sammy.” </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Dean is six years old and sitting on the floor of Pastor Jim’s living room, watching Sammy walk around as John whispers furiously to Jim. The kid is barely two and hardly talks, something John is worried about because he doesn’t want another mute kid. (Dean doesn’t know much about it, but he knows he didn’t talk for a while. He’d just stay with Sam and they’d sit in silence together, Sam asleep and Dean quietly vigilant.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John, you can’t raise them like this,” Jim says. “They’re kids, they need stability, something normal. I can keep them, if you want to go down this road, enroll them in school here. But you can’t drag them from place to place forever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tell me what to do with </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>kids,” John hisses back. “They’re both okay. Dean knows what he needs to, and Sammy’s fine. They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(Sometimes, Dean doesn’t think he’s fine. He thinks this is weird and that he doesn’t like living in the car and in motel rooms and moving all the time, and sometimes Dad gets mean and he doesn’t like that either. But he has Sam. That makes it okay.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure they are,” Jim scoffs. “Tell me why your youngest doesn’t say anything to me, then. I’ve only ever seen him talk to Dean, and even then, that’s rare. Hell, Dean doesn’t even let me </span>
  <em>
    <span>near </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sam. That’s not healthy. That is codependency you’re forcing on those two. If you raise them like this, it’ll kill them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam almost falls and catches himself, though Dean is already there, waiting to catch Sam just in case. He doesn’t know how right Jim will turn out to be. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Dean is nine years old and at Bobby’s house for the third time. He’s old enough to know that Bobby really doesn’t like their Dad all too much, but he puts up with John and likes having both of them over. Sam, four and blissfully oblivious, is playing with the little green army men Dean stole for them to play with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, boys,” Bobby says, walking into the room. “Are you both okay for now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean nods. “Sammy’s good, I’m good.” It’s the curt, militaristic response he’s been trained to give. As concise as possible, no sense in wasting time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bobby sighs, sitting down on the couch. “Dean, what do you think of your Daddy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Dean asks, eyes narrowing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, do you like what he does? Moves you around all the time? He’s teaching you how to use guns, kid, that ain’t safe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine with it,” Dean says sincerely. “I’m going to be a hunter, like him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s a hunter?” Sam asks, looking up from the army men. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean is quick to diffuse. “Nothing, Sammy. Just a movie me and Bobby were talking about.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam frowns. “Okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bobby lowers his voice. “Dean, I’m willing to take the two of you. If you don’t like what John’s doing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine with it,” Dean snaps. “Leave it alone. Please.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The older hunter sighs again, nods. “Fine. But kid, I’m always here for you. Remember that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Years later, Dean does. Again and again and again, up until Bobby dies. Sam acts as if he wasn’t anything to them, just another dead body they could actually “make something good out of”, as Sam put it. Dean, on the other hand, wonders if this is just what happens in their line of work, and if this is how it is, why wasn’t he prepared?) </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Dean is twelve and Sam hands him an amulet. He’s still a bit teary-eyed, and Dean knows the kid cried himself to sleep last night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad lied to me. I want you to have it,” Sam says. (It’s then that Dean realizes this is Sam putting all of his trust in Dean in a way he’ll do with no one else. Because Dean is stone number one. Always will be.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure?” Dean asks. Sam nods, resolute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picks it up, weight unfamiliar only now, and slips it over his head. The amulet falls against his chest, right over his heart. (All safe in his heart.) “Thank you Sam. I love it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam nods, opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but closes it again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on, Sammy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sam,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he says with that familiar petulance. “And nothing. Not really.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, we just upended your entire view on the world,” Dean says. “Tell me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam presses his lips together. “Dad’s not going to let it go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s going to find out I know, and then he’s going to make me do the stuff you do. The times where he takes you out and leaves me alone? He’s going to do that with me, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sammy…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me, Dean!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs. “It’s training. You’re going to need it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Training for what? Killing monsters?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly!” Dean says to him. “It’s not like you can go up to these things and stab them; they want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You have to know how to do it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t ask for this,” Sam whispers. “I didn’t ask for any of this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean swallows the lump in his throat. “None of us did, Sammy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(The amulet makes the most hollow </span>
  <em>
    <span>clunk </span>
  </em>
  <span>when he throws it away.) </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Dean is thirteen and on his first hunt with Dad. It’s simple, just a few ghouls that they can easily handle. He’s not even worried about himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Sammy. It’s always Sammy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure we should have left him alone?” Dean asks. “He’s nine, Dad, and he’s only known about this stuff for a year.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean,” John says. “He’s fine. Sammy knows what he’s doing. He’s just going to sit down and do homework like always.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but what if—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean. I don’t want to hear it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir,” Dean mumbles, lapsing into silence as they approach the warehouse (why is it always an abandoned warehouse?). John’s instructions are clear in his head. Get in. Find the ghouls. Take care of them. Get out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing ever goes that simply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It ends with Dean holding a shotgun and blood splattered over him while John has a bite on his shoulder that’s bleeding freely. Dean’s been prepared for his situation, he knows what to do, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh God he just killed something. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John grabs him by the arm, still out and stiff from aiming. “Dean, we have to go. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The blood isn’t going to stop by itself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean still can’t respond. He killed something. He’s barely a teenager and he’s killed something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t human,” John says in response to his internal thoughts. “It wasn’t human, it doesn’t matter. We’ve got to get back to the car.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re dead?” Dean manages to ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John doesn’t soften. “They’re dead. Come on.” </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Dean is seventeen and Sam is behind him, his Taraus clutched in white knuckles as John barrels ahead. Dean’s own Colt is in his hand, loaded with the safety on. This is routine. He’s done this before, it’s not a big deal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a pack of werewolves. Dean didn’t know that they lived in packs; John always said they were turned individually. The more you know, he guesses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sammy, you take the left. Dean’s on right. I’ll go through the middle. Shoot them—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—in the heart. I remember,” Sam rasps. (Dean should be more concerned about that than what’s going to come, but it’s fine. They’re fine.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, good,” John says. “There should be about five in here, but we don’t know for sure. If it’s not one of us, you shoot. Got it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean nods. This is routine by now. The initial shock he had over killing things has given way to vindictive pleasure, and once he gets his GED, he can finish with school and officially be a hunter with Dad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam, on the other hand, nods, but it’s a lot more shaky. Dean recognizes it all, saw it in himself years ago, but knows Sam will get over it. He did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(But Sammy has always been more sensitive, has always seemed to care more about getting out of this, has always resented the life they lived. Maybe he won’t.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go!”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Dean is twenty-two and Sam is screaming at John. He’s doing his best to tune it out, there’s a bottle of beer in his hand, but Sam is just so… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sam. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He always has been. Sam wanted John to listen for the longest time, just to see what Sam wanted, and Dean has known that this was coming. Sam showed him the acceptance letter months ago and Dean wasn’t surprised, but he didn’t think Sam would really go through with it all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are not turning your back on this family, Sam!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not turning my back on you, I’m just doing what I want and pursuing something else—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s exactly it! Both me and Dean are in this, and we’re in this together. Why are you the one that gets what you want?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean likes this life, Dad, he likes it and I don’t. You were more than happy to drag us around the country for our entire childhood, and I have been telling you for years. I don’t want this!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have a choice!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I do! This is my choice!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you dare, Sam.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m done,” Sam snaps, and Dean can hear the way his voice cracks on those words, can picture Sam holding back tears because Sam was wanted out for so long but he never wanted it to be like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this. </span>
  </em>
  <span>(Sammy just isn’t the same as them, he wants out. And Dean figures, if one of them should have a shot at normal, it should be Sam.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You walk out that door, Sam, you don’t come back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Sam whispers. His bag is already over his shoulder, duffel by the door, and he picks them up and heads out. The door slams behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John walks in, silent for all of three seconds before his fist slams into the wall. Dean pushes John’s wallet across the table, and his father only picks it up, heads out as well, and Dean just knows he’ll stumble in hours later and crash. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He uses the time to cry.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Dean is twenty-six and his brother is in shock at his side. (Dean hadn’t seen his mother on the ceiling more than two decades ago, and seeing Jess is only all the more terrifying knowing that this is happening all over again.) “Come on, kiddo, come back to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam hasn’t said anything since he sat down on the car after closing the trunk of the Impala. The police are sending them concerned looks, there are some kids who probably know Sam, know— knew —Jess, and want to say something, but here’s Dean. Someone they probably know nothing about and is by Sam’s side when they can’t be. (When Jess can’t be.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sammy. The police still have to ask you questions, we’ve got to get a story together,” Dean tells him. He should have known he’d end up pulling Sammy back in, should have known that bothering him would end up with the same thing happening. Well, he couldn’t have known it would be the exact same thing, but it’s the same day. November second. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Sam was yelling for Jess when Dean came in, writhing on the bed because of course, this is Sam they’re talking about, always has to save everyone no matter the cost to himself (as Dean will notice later on) and it’s his girlfriend. Blonde curls spread on the ceiling, stomach slashed, and lips parting way for a scream that catches in her throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean didn’t know Jess that well, but it’s more than enough.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brings the kid under his arm and lays Sam’s head on his shoulder, glaring at the cop that comes closer. Slips back into the role of big brother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Breathes for the first time in four years. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Dean is twenty-eight and holds his dead brother in his arms. The ground is muddy and seeps into the knees of his jeans, a trivial detail Dean shouldn’t even be noticing, not with the literal dead weight in front of him, but maybe that’s because he can still see Sam limping towards them, then the other kid appearing and stabbing Sam in the spine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bobby’s heading back right now, as Dean feels the blood run down Sam’s back and onto his hands, his little brother’s head on his shoulder with closed eyes and neck gone limp, not able to hold it up anymore. Sam’s heartbeat should be fluttering into his shoulder, Dean should be able to feel it against his body but all he can sense is emptiness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It was supposed to be him, Dean was always supposed to die before Sam. Sam was supposed to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>out, </span>
  </em>
  <span>should have been done, but then he got involved in all of this psychic crap, with, as Dean will find out, their mother and Jess’s killer, the one who took their Dad away from them.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s early in the morning. His eye catches Sam’s watch when he pulls away just to try and convince himself that this is a trick, that Sammy isn’t— that Sammy isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span> —and his breath stutters in his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>3:26. Sam is twenty-four. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Happy birthday, little brother. </span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Dean is twenty-nine and feels himself get torn apart by hellhounds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Sammy turns twenty-five today.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a pain that he can’t describe. It’s more than just being clawed, the hellhounds burn when they do it too. He can feel his flesh being torn away, can hear Sam screaming at Lilith (Ruby) to stop it, stop it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop it—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean can’t help the noises that come from him, tearing out of his thigh like blood, feels it tossed across his chest as the hellhounds breathe hotly in his face. (Sam’s voice is more desperate and hollow than Dean has ever heard it and he doesn’t even want to think about how this looks, what kind of shit Sam is going to pull after this because look at this kid, look at this fucking kid who will do anything to save Dean and Dean will do anything to save him but Sam just can’t break the hold of the demon pinning him to the wall.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s flipped over and they really start at his chest, claws scraping for his ribcage, for his heart and Sam’s given up and just keeps shouting </span>
  <em>
    <span>no </span>
  </em>
  <span>as Dean’s blood spills like a tide, soaking through the remains of his shirt and his jeans and he can feel them pick him up and drag him away except— </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except his body’s there, on the floor. Still except for the one hellhound that’s just playing with him now. Lilith raises a hand and there’s a light and Sam, Dean doesn’t know what happened to Sam. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s hooks through his shoulders and he’s in the air, suspended by chains he can’t see the ends of. It smells like sulfur and blood and fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is Hell. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sam!” </span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Dean is thirty-one and Sam is in the Cage. He’s in Stull Cemetery, face in ridiculous pain and probably broken in more than one place, but none of that matters right now. Sam just jumped into Hell to spend an eternity with Lucifer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When did they get to the point where Dean would think that his experience in Hell was actually nicer than what Sam is about to go through? He can clearly remember saying that there was no way Sam could understand what had happened down there, that he couldn’t make him, and yet… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Sam’s turn, if Dean can’t get him out. He promised Sam that he wouldn’t do anything to get him out, but after watching Sam grab Michael by the arm and pull both of them into the hole the rings opened up, does he have a choice? It’s not just Lucifer now, not as he thought, but Michael will be there two. Sam will have two archangels to deal with in the Pit. (There isn’t a way Adam can be in there, his soul wouldn’t have been able to stay in his body after the molotoving, so it’s just Sam against two of the oldest beings in creation.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then there’s two fingers on his forehead and Dean looks up to see Castiel, who’s healed his injuries at this point, letting Dean scramble to his feet and over to where the rings were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sammy,” he whispers, Bobby coming up behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If everyone else can just come back from the dead, why can’t Sam?</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Dean is thirty-two and almost has a family. Lisa and Ben aren’t close to what he had with Sam and even with Bobby, but they’re enough. He thinks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben is smart. Not in the same way Sammy was, not the nerdy, bookish kid he practically raised, but he has the same quick-on-the-pickup learning style Sam did. Dean isn’t ever going to teach him about monsters to the extent that he knows about them, but Ben knows enough to keep him safe. They both do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lisa is more than his one-night stands, obviously. It took them a while to start actually sleeping in the same bed without feeling weird about it, but it’s become normal at this point. Ben’s even taken to climbing between the two of them, and though he presses into Lisa more, there are moments where he leans into Dean’s chest, the weight feeling like that of Sam and Dean gets thrown back into nights in crappy motel rooms, Sam sleeping on him as he waited for Dad to get back to them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben is into the whole car thing. Dean lets him look at the Impala sometimes, even let the kid slide into the backseat once, but not the passenger. That’s Sam’s place. They look at the engine of Lisa’s car when it acts up, and Dean tries to teach Ben what to do. It’s nice, most times. Others it just reminds him of Sam. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(But to be honest, what doesn’t?) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lives a life that counts as respectable, and though it’s punctuated by memories and moments of grief so bad Dean can’t breathe… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean is happy and feels guilty about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the life Sam wanted, and he’s the one who’s getting it. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Dean is thirty-three and after all of that, after everything he and Sam have been through as a team, as John Winchester’s sons, as brothers, this is how it ends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With Sam, unresponsive on a motel bed, still alive but slipping further and further away and for once, Dean knows that there’s nothing he can do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except let go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which, in typical Winchester fashion, doesn't happen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It never will.) </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>that kind of sucked but thank you so so much for reading, it means so much to me and i really appreciate it :) </p><p>only took two months haha i should have written this better but whatever </p><p>nanowrimo's coming up and i am big stress because i'm doing it so i guess it's just time to suffer </p><p>have a good day/night/whatever and again thank you tons for reading!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>